


Help (I Need Somebody) Help!

by IcedAquarius



Category: Batman - All Media Types, Miraculous Ladybug
Genre: But realistic, Damian Wayne Needs a Hug, F/M, Marinette Dupain-Cheng Needs a Hug, Marinette and Damian texting back and forth, Marinette has no self preservation, Marinette is depressed, Salt, Same as the one from batsandbugs on tumblr, She needs some actual help, Slow Burn, Vigilante Therapy, Wrong Number AU, discussion of magic, the effect of magic, which combined with her depression is a bad thing
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-19
Updated: 2021-02-10
Packaged: 2021-03-17 06:40:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,282
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28844733
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/IcedAquarius/pseuds/IcedAquarius
Summary: When luck and sleep-deprivation combine to hand Marinette a chance to ease her loneliness, she's not quite sure what to make of the snarky, spikey, self-assured asshole who responds to her late night text. The universe apparently didn't understand she needed another problem like she needed another Akuma attack.But as the situation in Paris worsens, she, surprisingly, finds her only champion in the boy on the other side of the screen.
Relationships: Damian Wayne & his family, Marinette Dupain-Cheng | Ladybug & Tikki, Marinette Dupain-Cheng | Ladybug/Damian Wayne, Marinette and her Parents
Comments: 85
Kudos: 506





	1. Chapter 1

The patter of rain outside Marinette’s window wasn’t keeping her awake, no, the creeping numbness consuming every inch of her body – a craving for oblivion and stimulation all at once – did that on its own.

But the rain certainly wasn’t helping.

On nights like these, where everything was too little and too much, she would find herself escaping to her rooftop balcony and gaze at the stars. Tikki would lie beside her whispering tales of elegance and power; the stories of miraculous holders of long ago fighting against those who would cause the world harm. Her constant companion – a voice of reason when her own brain shouted too loud – was the only reason she was doing as well as she was.

And Marinette knew herself; she wasn’t doing well.

But when the clouds covered the skies, drenching the streets, and blocking the stars it forced her to remain indoors. The hum of electricity, faint but noticeable – a noise she had been unable to ignore ever since donning her miraculous - an irritating background hum. The powers she received when untransformed existed as a blessing and a curse. It without a doubt saved her from one too many klutzy moments, but many days she missed the ignorance about the nuances of the world around her.

Another moment of strained silence passed before she had enough. She crawled out from under her warmed covers, the cold November night chilling her. Being careful not to disturb the sleeping Kwami, Marinette stuffed her feet into a pair of slippers and descended from her loft bed, and wandered over to her chaise. Crawling under a large knitted blanket – a project from a few years ago - she glanced out her window watching the illuminated rain run down the pane.

The change in location did nothing to help the static in her brain as it wrapped its meticulous tendrils around every train of thought trying to usher her towards coherence.

She wanted to scream.

She wanted to smile.

She wanted to cry.

She wanted to care.

She wanted to feel something, anything, other than the gaping emptiness slowly consuming her.

And yet as the moments ticked by, and the rain continued to patter, nothing came.

Marinette was scared nothing ever would.

A small light flickered in the corner of her eye. She slipped off her chaise and walked over to her desk – her phone alight with a notification.

Well, at least there was the internet to help her escape from the directionless dread snapping at her heels.

Grabbing her phone, she retreated back under her knitted blanket, content to mindlessly scroll until the need for sleep won against her brain. It was a Friday night and with a weekend planned for ignoring online harassment from her classmates and completing piles of homework – and the potential ever-looming presence of an Akuma attack – Marinette felt secure in ignoring sleep.

She unlocked her phone.

And a slight shiver ran down her spine.

Well, it wasn’t exactly a _normal_ shiver. Over the past four years, she developed a particularly acute sense of detecting between a normal physiological reaction, and a _magic-induced_ one. This? This chill was magic.

Her fingers tapped on her messaging app with little input from her. Opening a new message, she typed in a number, seemingly random, but she knew by now each movement was laced with luck. Once finished the push driving her to such measures faded, leaving Marinette facing a choice.

Tikki did her best to explain the phenomena several years ago when it first appeared. As Ladybug she tapped into the Strings of the universe, where her powers of creation and luck came from. When dealing with luck she subtly manipulated the flow of events around her. At first, only when transformed, and only able to rise to the surface when calling for her Lucky Charm. Eventually, the manipulation became unconscious but continuously present, unable to be directed, but still there, helping in subtle ways. And on occasion, when she _wished hard enough_ – a little push there and a little shove there – and who knew how many blows it took to break a lamppost, and maybe she hit it a little harder than normal?

But the older she grew, and the longer she wielded the Miraculous of Luck and Creation, the more powerful she grew outside of her transformations. And, on occasion, unconsciously tapped into the probabilities of the universe. The little nudges caused her to make and take decisions and actions she never would. But every time it did a minor problem would be solved, or an opportunity would arise, or a good thing happened that would make a normal person smile at the universe and comment on how luck favored them today.

Marinette knew better.

It was a side effect of her existence mingling with the powers of the universe. Tikki told her, within time, she would feel for the Strings herself and be able not only to manipulate her own but others’ too.

It was not the first time Marinette experienced a panic attack over her powers, and it certainly would not be the last.

Which brought her to her choice; and suddenly, sitting in her darkened room at two in the morning, staring at her phone with a random number on the screen, resembled being perched on top of the Eiffel Tower, feet dangling over the edge, the _l’appel du vide_ – the call of the void – twisting around her, caressing her like a friend and urging her to… fall.

A random number, a string of electricity running into the darkness, unknown and unknowable. Like shouting into the wind at the beach, the water stretching far as the eye could see, the words would take to the sky and disappear.

Only, a text would go… _somewhere._

To… _someone._

And they might, just maybe, respond.

A shiver, this time her own, rolled through her.

Marinette glanced up at her loft bed, a small red glow, barely perceptible to the human eye, lingering in the air.

Tikki wouldn’t be pleased.

The tiny Kwami always urged Marinette to caution when it came to taking risks like these. Even the goddess herself had a tough time figuring out where actions prompted from the Strings would lead. And this… this had the potential to go very, very, wrong.

But…

Every time Marinette followed the urgings of the universe, she had never been disappointed. True, its effects could be small, barely noticeable at times, but not always. The effect could be much larger. Marinette was always pleased whatever the outcome.

Even if the responsibility of the rest of the power laid heavier on her shoulders with each passing day.

Everywhere Marinette turned she stood alone. Cut off from her parents by necessity; the overwhelming urge to keep them safe, to keep them _out_ of danger forced her to remain silent and ready lie at the drop of a hat. Cut off from her friends and classmates by manipulation; Lila succeeded in twisting them to her whims – the girl had no mercy to stay her vicious tongue, no morals to limit the stories her mind twisted into being. Cut off from mentorship by a quirk of magic; Master Fu deserved to live the rest of his life without guilt, but for his guiding influence to be taken away meant floundering on what to do next. Cut off even from her own partner; Chat flipped between hot and cold, flirtatious and disinterested, reliable and fickle. The days where they could talk about everything and nothing during evening patrols faded away into uncomfortable silences.

That left Luka… sweet, sweet Luka.

Marinette sighed.

Holding herself together on a good day was hard enough. What good would she be as a girlfriend? Flighty and closed off, unable to open up, constantly in fear of when Hawkmoth would strike next.

No. She had made the right choice, telling the budding musician they were better off as friends.

Glancing down at her phone, the screen locked once more – a group photo of her, Adrian, Kagami, and Luka lit up behind cracked glass – she smiled, tinged with bittersweetness though it was. At least Adrian, who stuck by her side through it all, found happiness. While Kagami proved to be a stalwart friend, Marinette still wished now and again for different circumstances, but she would never begrudge two of her closest friends for finding comfort together.

And Tikki, while a constant presence, and a needed voice of reason was still a goddess, a creature unfathomably old. Still sweet, caring, and understanding, but detached from the constant stress and pressures of human existence. She was unable to truly be an outlet for Marinette to confide in.

With everything laid out before her culminating together in a bleak understanding of her isolation, it appeared obvious her actions, driven by the luck of the universe, seemed like sanctioned permission.

She unlocked her phone once more. 

Taking a quick breath, the wind whipping smugly beneath her dangling feet, she began to type.


	2. Chapter 2

Damian held back an unimpressed sigh when two goons rushed him. Their stances obviously off-balance, and he could smell the stench of alcohol wafting off of them. A low sweep to their legs resulted in them hitting the ground with a low thump. If he possessed a dime for every low-brow thug who thought their chance at beating him was higher than any of the other thousands of goons he'd beaten before, he’d be richer than his father twice over.

It wasn’t his fault the brain lacking buffoons hadn’t figured out they had a snowball’s chance in hell to beat him during the seven years he lived here. Damian certainly wasn’t going to be the one to tell them differently now. He needed some sort of stress relief after Alfred banned swearing in the house.

He flipped another grunt over his shoulders, an audible crack of a broken bone soon followed.

His mask hid a glint of amusement surely gleaming in his eyes, but he kept his face an annoyed scowl. The last thing he needed was word getting back to his father for finding pleasure in the suffering of others. Even if the whole reason they were out tonight, punching up a contingent of near brain-dead loons, was to stop a sex trafficking ring. It was times like this where he seriously considered the validity of his father’s no-killing rule; surely some scum wouldn’t be missed.

He whipped around to punch another man, nearly a foot taller than him and thrice as wide, across the face. Blood spurted from the thug’s nose as the behemoth fell to the ground. _Good._ Damian jumped back and flipped himself over to roundhouse kick another goon. Another satisfying crack and the last of them finally fallen to his superior skills.

Easy.

He waited for the warm glow of satisfaction after a fight well fought, but all he received was the familiar rush of adrenaline and the delicious burn of his muscles tensing for another go.

Unfortunately, all too easy.

Damian didn’t sigh, he was too disciplined for such an action, but the low-level grumbling in his mind and the displeased sneer were all too indicative of his problem.

He was utterly unchallenged.

He did not enjoy getting beat to hell and back. He wasn’t a masochist (although, the same could not be said for the rest of his family if anyone asked him (which, of course, they didn’t)). It was just… after _three_ years with the Titans, constantly stretching to prove himself, pushing his abilities to keep up with those endowed with advantages he simply didn’t have, Gotham felt… _lacking_ in comparison.

And with the Titans all but formally disbanded, Gotham was all he had.

Well… that wasn’t entirely true. He could follow Cyborg and Blue Beetle and join the Justice League. He had enough blackmail material on all the core members needed to vote him in if his father protested. It would be a welcome change; higher-level threats and off-world missions, if only there wasn’t the pesky problem of dealing with _other_ heroes.

He would be the first to admit in his younger teenage years his anti-socialness was a bit… problematic, but he’d grown past that. Socializing with the Titans had been difficult at first, but by the end, he could say he was more than an acquaintance with them – even if he wouldn’t go so far as to call _all_ of them friends. But even if he had grown used to them, it still took three years. At least in Gotham his potential partners were all known quantities. Even if he disliked half of them on his good days.

 _“Robin, do you read?”_ called his father on the comms. He shook away his distracting maudlin thoughts.

He raised a hand to his comm. “All clear southside Batman, making my way to the roof.”

_“Negative, Hood is already there. Red Robin needs help releasing the captives – cops will be here in fifteen.”_

Damian bit back an irritated sigh. “I’ll be of more use-”

_“Robin, that’s an order.”_

The words wrapped around him restricting in a way he hadn’t felt in years. He glared down at the unconscious thug and gave a swift kick to the side resulting in an incoherent groan. Gritting his teeth, he muttered, “Yes, Batman.”

His comm feed dropped off.

The resulting string of swear words he uttered in Arabic would have cost him two hundred dollars in the swear jar. Damian just didn’t give enough of a _fuck_ to bring himself to care. 

* * *

Damian didn’t slam his bedroom door shut, but it was a _close_ thing.

Between avoiding his father, deflecting the inane chatter of his siblings, and dealing with the GCPD, all of whom were either corrupt, uncaring, or ridiculously overworked, he had been ready to stab someone, repeatedly, consequences be damned. 

That reaction didn't even factor in dealing with the inconsolable sobbing women they rescued from the shipping containers. The sight of dozens of girls packed together like cargo, most of them his age, if not younger would be enough to throw even the most experienced off their game.

Damian lived through truly horrid things growing up in the League. He knew that now. He had killed a grown man before he lost his first baby tooth. Suffered through endless hours of training with painful consequences upon any sign of failure. He had been beaten, starved, tortured, and pushed to the extremes of what a child could endure, but the utter horror and disgust he was faced with tonight, well…

At least the suffering he’d endured had a _point_.

Rubbing a towel through his still-damp hair, he collapsed on top of his bed, an exhausted groan escaping his mouth. The shower did little in relaxing his tensed muscles, his bed a welcome retreat after being on his feet for hours. Reaching out blindly he grabbed his phone off his bedside table. Going to bed would be the better choice, but it was Saturday, so he didn’t really give a damn.

His phone flickered on and he was taken aback by the notifications awaiting him.

_40 unread messages_

He raised an eyebrow. That was _odd_. Not completely impossible, but odd. He did have acquaintances who would text him, Jon and Garfield came to mind, but it would be one or two messages at the most. Maybe a missed call if it was something extremely important.

He unlocked his phone.

Tapping on his messaging app, he saw the messages all came from an unknown number.

That was concerning, considering anyone who had this number were people he should already have programed into his contacts.

This put Damian’s suspicions on high alert.

Cautiously tapping on the text stream, he began reading.

  * _As long as you’re not an evil villain running around in a purple suit  
or a bitchy Italian transfer student I figure you won’t care about  
what I have to say _
  * _I haven’t slept in two days. My brain is buzzing. And between my  
insomnia and four years of repressed anger generated by   
existing in the same city as an emotional terrorist who uses magical   
butterflies to turn distressed people into monsters, I might come off a bit  
incoherent _



Before Damian could stop it, a small laugh of amusement passed his lips. This person was either _really_ high or entirely serious.

His finger hovered over the delete button. This had nothing to do with him. The person admitted they were texting a random number to blow off steam. He should just let it go and get some sleep.

But despite the long drive home, the debriefing, and a shower, the adrenaline hadn’t left his system yet. And the sight of those women in the container wasn’t going to leave his brain for a while. Sleep wouldn’t be coming for a long time yet. Whoever this was, sounded, if not entirely sane, at least somewhat amusing.

Looking back on it, Damian didn’t know what influencing factor made him read further. It could have been amusement or curiosity. It could have been sleep-deprivation. It could have been the promise of distraction. It could all of those or none of those, or any combination thereof.

Or it could have been luck.

Pulling up the knitted blanket from the end of his bed, he settled in against his covers and began to read. 


	3. Chapter 3

Unknown number: 33X – XX- XX – XX – XX 

Sent: 8:23 pm

  * _As long as you’re not an evil villain running around in a purple suit  
or a bitchy Italian transfer student I figure you won’t care about  
what I have to say _
  * _I haven’t slept in two days. My brain is buzzing. And between my  
insomnia and four years of repressed anger generated by  
existing in the same city as an emotional terrorist who uses magical  
butterflies to turn distressed people into monsters, I might come off a bit  
incoherent _
  * _My name’s Marinette btw_
  * _Do you ever get the feeling that your life is just a series of jokes and you’re  
the only one not laughing? _
  * _Cause I do – all the time_
  * _So, I live in Paris, wonderful city of lights and love and blah blah blah_
  * _Living here SUCKS_
  * _I mean I could live elsewhere, and it would probably suck too, but nooooo  
we just had to have a supervillain who decided to call it home. And I mean  
there are other places that have tons of supervillains, probably worse  
ones if I’m being honest – hey gotham, I’m looking at you – but sheesh  
we have it pretty bad here_
  * _And like, the gov is so corrupt that they won’t even let the big leagues even  
breathe in our direction – the JL has been BANNED from setting foot here  
I don’t even think they gave them a reason. And we totally have a complete  
media blackout _
  * _There’s a good 60% chance that this is being monitored – no I’m not  
joking, I really wish I were though _
  * _So, supervillain – magical supervillain - uses butterflies – yes, BUTTERFLIES -  
to corrupt people when they’re angry, depressed, sad, inconvenienced. You  
can’t even shed a fucking tear here w/o hearing the flap of  
tiny little demon wings _
  * _Personally, I’ve taken around carrying hairspray and a lighter so if one  
of those fuckers comes anywhere near me I can. Light. It. On. FIRE. _
  * _We have Akuma – that’s what these things are called – drills  
at school, which is, almost no help, bc for some fucking reason my  
school is ground zero for this shit – oh yeah, this fucker targets  
children on the reg_
  * _Gotta love those raging teenage hormones am I right_ 🙃



Sent: 8:43 pm

  * _And it’s not like you can complain afterward bc the heroes – yeah, we  
have those too – they “fix” everything at the end of a battle. Any damage is  
just, poof, gone. Eiffel tower turned to dust, back to normal, giant  
car accident, back to normal, whole collection of zoom animals released  
including with people EATEN – yeah, totally back to normal _
  * _People have died during these fights – we had the entire city  
under-FUCKING-water once. My parents had nightmares for weeks  
and I know other people did the same. They come back, and all of them  
remember dying, but it’s, okay?!?! bc they’re not dead anymore?  
like, fuck_
  * _So, every fucking therapist in the city is booked, and you can’t  
leave and go somewhere else bc no one would believe you, and so you  
have all these people just, ignoring their feelings all the damn time  
and no one _really _blames anyone who gets akumatized, you  
can’t really help it, but everyone is so on edge all the damn  
_
  * _I hope I’m not txting a kid – don’t swear if you’re younger than like… 10?  
idk, I’m an only child. I learned to curse in three languages at once  
so… _
  * _And this shit has been going on for 4 YEARS – I don’t know if the rest  
of the world is just not paying attention or if it’s the magic, it’s prob the  
magic – but there are some kids – like legit kids, not just teens, who  
are “this is totally normal” and like no, fuck, it’s not normal _



Sent: 9:22 pm

  * _Sorry, I had to take a break, I was getting too worked up, and had to  
meditate _
  * _Anyway, so here I am, and I admit I’ve always been a bit of an emotional  
mess, so, you think I would’ve been targeted at this point. Well, I was  
My teacher jumped in front of it – which caused an even bigger mess  
and I mean, I’m grateful don’t get me wrong but it just means that I’m  
constantly worrying if I’m showing too much or feeling too much bc  
I can’t be akumatized – it just… it would be bad. _
  * _Anyway, so besides all of that we have your normal teen problems  
and I mean, in a normal situation you could probably resolve all  
of this – bullying, harassment, neglect (not from my parents – from the school,  
my parents are the best – even if they are a bit busy) but since  
everyone is on edge. All. The. Time. No one wants to confront problems _
  * _And so, my teacher and principal are just like, “you can’t cause trouble  
Marinette”, and “be an example, Marinette” and “she has a medical  
condition, Marinette” and fucking hell she has a medical condition  
it’s called being a fucking pathological liar and no, fuck this shit no one should be  
told to shut up when they’re being bullied, esp not by the fucking people who _  
_should fix it_
  * _And I could tell my parents, but then they get dragged in, and then Lila  
gets dragged in, and then her mom would get dragged in, and then next  
thing you know our whole class knows, and I’ll be getting anon death threats  
AGAIN, and it’s just not worth it. Plus, three or four people could get  
akumatized from that EASY and just, no. I’ve been the cause of some before  
and it’s the worst. I don’t want to have my dad like that again _
  * _bc, let’s face it, it would prob be him. That or my mom, which like… no – shit  
that would be scary, my mom knows how to fight. I do not want to see her  
bolstered by creepy evil magic, which would be a fight idk who would win _



Sent 9:45pm

  * _And Lila – she’s the lying bitch btw – she_ likes _getting akumatized. She  
does it on purpose if she can manage it. And everyone believes she’s  
this amazing, perfect person, and it’s. just. So. Obvious. that she’s not.  
And her lies aren’t even that convincing, and I’ve known most of  
these people since we were seven? And they just, believe her? _
  * _And the only people who know what she is are either not in my  
class, not in my school, or they _are _but they can’t do shit bc their father  
is an utter asshole and so threatens to pull him out of school and away from  
all his friends if he doesn’t “be nice to her” and the bitch knows it. And it  
just makes me want to pull my hair out and scream. _
  * _BUT I CAN’T! bc evil magical terrorist constantly looking for victims  
and so you just have to smile and push it down and pretend you  
are fine bc if you don’t, bam – half of Paris gets destroyed bc you  
can’t hold in being a human being _
  * _Fuck my life_
  * _And the only person who I could talk to got into a car accident, and now  
doesn’t remember a thing, so he left to go live with family elsewhere  
and now I’ve got no one_
  * _So here I am at… shit it’s almost six in the morning, typing my problems out  
to a random number, and hoping that I’m not traumatizing  
someone else in the process _
  * _I kinda feel better though_
  * _If you’ve actually managed to read through all of this… thanks_
  * _You don’t have to respond or anything, I just really needed to vent._
  * _Reading back over all of it, it sounds like I’m a crazy person, which, I guess  
I must be if this is my life, idk if a sane person would deal with half  
the things I do _
  * _I’m actually feeling tired now, so I’m gonna get some sleep._
  * _I hope someone found this amusing or interesting, or whatever – I mean  
it’s not, living through it and everything. My life kinda sucks. But  
it could always be worse. And outside looking in and maybe it’s  
entertaining _
  * _Do you ever feel like your life’s a joke, but you’re the  
only one not laughing? _
  * _Cause I do._
  * _All the time_



Message read at 3:15 am  
  



End file.
